It was in the early morning
Of life, and of hope to me,
I sat on a grassy hillside
Of the Isle beyond the sea,
Erin's skies of changeful beauty
Were bending over me.
The landscape, emerald tinted,
Lying smiling in the sun,
The grass with daisies sprinkled,
And with shamrocks over run,
The Maine water flashed and dimpled,
Still flowing softly on.
The lark in the blue above me,
A tiny speck in the sky,
Rained down from its bosom's fulness
A shower of melody,
Dropping through the golden sunlight,
And sweetly rippling by
Afar in the sunny distance,
O'er the river's further brim,
Like a stern old Norman warder,
Stood the castle tall and grim,
And, nearer a grassy ruin,
...